I’m Not Hungry…I’m Starving!

Before Scout came along, I wasn’t sure what I thought about breastfeeding, especially after someone told me it felt like your nipple was being slammed in a door, but breastfeeding is great for other reasons (besides nutritional value):

• When you’re tired of visitors, you can hide with the baby in another room and refuse to come out until they leave. Trust me: once the baby is gone, people go home.
• Your husband has to do the dishes or other chores.
• Breastfeeding forces you to sit down, relax, and watch a movie for a Movies Teach Us post…even if you only get to watch it in 20-minute segments.

Recently, I watched The Starving Games, which is a spoof of The Hunger Games. Here’s what I learned:

• People in the Capital dress funny because Lady Gaga was President.
• In the game lottery, enter names like Hugh Janus and Dean Gillberry. They’re funny when they’re announced.

• Kantmiss celebrates with a chest bump before volunteering to save her sister.
• Wedgies can cut you in half. Beware.
• You can put out an entire forest fire with a fire extinguisher.
• Angry birds attack in the Starving Games.
• Kantmiss is invited to join The Avengers.

And most importantly, Chuck Norris doesn’t have a catch phrase because catch phrases need him.*

*Anything about Chuck Norris is always the most important.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I fail to see how donut pants aren’t strategically positioned to be beside the Homer Simpson boxers….”—AbsentElemental

And Two Tylenols Later, A Baby Was Born

Guy in Childbirth Class: So…do you think my wife could just take a couple Tylenol and be ok through labor?

I wanted to smack him. Partially because earlier he insisted his punctured spleen from a car accident a couple years ago never really hurt.

I have a pretty high pain tolerance.

Translation: I cry only a little when I slowly peel off a band aid.

Taking this off will be a doozy.

Real Translation: Because needles freak me out, I won’t let the dentist numb me when filling cavities.

I’m that person nearly passes out at blood draws, and afterwards I feel stupid because I didn’t even feel the needle.

So I decided to last as long as I could drug-free and then assess the drug situation because…

• I was a 9-pound (and however many ounces) baby.
• Boo was a 23-inch long baby.
• Radley was a 9-pound baby.
• Our baby measured in the 70th percentile.
• Except for her head. She’s in the 93rd percentile. Our baby has a big head.
• After Sunday’s false labor contractions for over 12 hours, I almost slammed my head into the wall to knock myself out just so I could get some rest.

My birth plan said…

1. Knock me out.
2. Wake me up after the baby arrives.

I wish that had been an option. It actually said…

1. Drugs: Maybe. Not Tylenol.

After laboring at home for 15-16 hours, I decided it was time to go to the hospital. When I got there, I was 7 centimeters dilated…and every nurse seemed concerned I was about to give birth in the hallway, so I asked for drugs that last an hour, hoping that was all I would need.

That resulted in me telling everyone that I made the staff red velvet cookies, and they should get one from the nurses station.

And after that sweet hour of mild relief with barely any more dilation, I asked for the epidural.

Kiefer: Are you sure you don’t want to try walking around first to see if it speeds things up?

Me: Kiefer…I’m done. I want…the epidural.

When you say someone’s name, they know you mean business.

When the anesthesiologist came in…

Anesthesiologist: How are you doing?

Me: I’m done.

Unfortunately for me, the baby hadn’t come out yet, so I wasn’t actually done.

One epidural and 3 hours later, I was 10 centimeters dilated with a bag of water still in tact. The midwife popped it, and we got the show on the road.

Then I noticed that I could see my legs and stuff in the reflection of the lamp light. I think that’s when my coochie snorcher decided it was done despite the baby still being inside.

After pushing for a bit, they turned down the epidural. After pushing for 4 hours with little progress and a baby suspected to be sunny side up, we discussed other options.

Scout finally arrived after nearly 29 hours of labor. The last 5-10 minutes was extremely unpleasant—I’ll leave it at that.

Her head was too big for my nether regions but not too big for this hat.

The Baby Came a Week Early…And There Was Much Rejoicing

Guess who decided to grace us with her presence a week early at 6-something AM on February 20th?

Congrats to Carrie, BlissfulBrit, and 1PointPerspective for guessing the correct day!

Let’s just call her Baby Scout to go with Boo and Radley.

Is It Time?

Kiefer: If the baby comes on Valentine’s Day, I don’t ever have to buy you a Valentine’s Day gift again, right? We’re good?

Um…no.

One of my coworkers was convinced the baby was coming on Valentine’s Day. She didn’t.

But on Sunday, after Kiefer and I finished our crab-filled Valentine’s Day brunch, I started having contractions, and I wondered if a President’s Day baby was in our future.

We spent 12+ hours timing contractions and alternating between walking Ozzy (contractions every 3.5 minutes) and putting my feet up (contractions every 5-7 minutes), and just when I was about to admit defeat, they finally subsided.

Contractions are jerks.

Apparently, crab is not a food that induces labor effectively. Unless I find out at tomorrow’s appointment that I’m dilated.

My due date is February 26th. The specialist is guessing February 18th or 19th based on her size. Technically, I could go till March 12th, but anyone who mentions that gets a swift kick to the face. TO. THE. FACE.

What’s your prediction?

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I can’t see Australia on this map so that must mean I have to buy 15 cases? Yes?”—Daile

Who Snuck the Hooch to the Baby?

Dear Baby,

Last night after our midnight bladder emptying, I settled onto the couch so Kiefer could actually sleep while I spent the next 2 hours trying to find a remotely comfortable sleeping position. (Which I now know is impossible.)

About 20 minutes later when I finally resigned myself to the fact that I was as comfortable as I was ever going to get, you started hiccuping.

W…T…F….

And you kept hiccuping for-ev-er. So I can only assume you’ve been drinking.

You’re in sooooo much trouble. I thought I had more time before we needed to have the Don’t-Drink-Until-You’re-21 talk.

They grow up so fast….

I can handle a lot:

• The midnight pee breaks.
• You pressing on my lungs so I can barely breathe.
• You refusing to move when Boo touches my tummy, so Radley can endlessly taunt him with: “I’ve felt the baby move and you haven’t.”
• You making it impossible to find a comfortable sleep position.

What I cannot handle is you throwing in my face that while you apparently had an all-night kegger, I’ve been deprived of key lime pie martinis and blueberry margaritas for months. MONTHS!

If I can’t drink, you can’t drink, and I don’t appreciate you throwing your drunken hiccups in my face…er, tummy.

You’re grounded until further notice.

Love,

Your Mama

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “If you did not eat the entire candy bar within 24 hours of receiving it, then we can no longer be friends.”—PinotNinja